Ch1

The sword to some more the just a tool in the hands of a master it can be an extension of the arm. The right hands deadly but beautiful.

The sky was painted with blues an orange like a beautiful checkerboard I see it as the bottom tread of a shoe comes down on my face breaking my nose an as blood gushes out an the pain shoot white through my vision. I managed the grave hold of this weeks bully an show him why the others leave me beeven if I am just loser orphan from the south of my village in out edges of England